Famous athletes from Uzbekistan‌‌

Information about Gulsevar Bosimova, a coach-athlete of the “Uzbek Martial Arts” sport at Sports School 1 in Gallaorol District, Jizzakh Region

Gulsevar Bosimova Dilshod qizi was born on December 21, 2007. Since 2023, she has been practicing the “Uzbek Martial Arts” sport at Sports School 1 in Gallaorol District. Her dedication and passion for sports are particularly noteworthy. Over the years, she has represented our region honorably in various International and Uzbekistan Championship competitions, achieving numerous successes.

Notably, on December 26 – 29, 2023, she claimed a prestigious 1st place at the Jizzakh Region Open Championship in Uzbek Martial Arts for children, juniors, and adults.

On June 27 – 29, 2024, she earned a well-deserved 2nd place in the 53 kg weight category at the Jizzakh Region Championship among juniors, youth, and adults.

For her remarkable performance and 1st place in the 49 kg category at the Uzbekistan Championship for youth born in 2007-2008, she was awarded in recognition of her achievement.

On September 21-22, 2024, she secured a 3rd place at the Uzbekistan Cup held in Tashkent. Her most remarkable achievement came in the World Championship held in Tashkent from November 1 to 7, 2024, where she earned a 3rd place in the 49 kg weight category, proudly raising the flag of our country.

On December 26, 2024, she was honored with the title of “Best Athlete of the Year” for her outstanding achievements in International and Uzbekistan championships throughout the year.

Despite her young age, Gulsevar Bosimova has shown great experience, resilience, and determination in the field of Uzbek Martial Arts. She always strives to complete every task entrusted to her to the highest standard and is highly respected among her peers. In life, she is modest, courteous, honest, and a constant hard worker, setting an example for others in diligently completing assignments. She is an exemplary student.

1

 Green grass in the belly of a dead cow

The sun hides behind a bashful horizon

2

And when the banana peel turned black, God was no longer able to fix anything.

3

man rested his head 

against the wooden sky 

and there is nothing 

higher than the sky

4

My hand has dried up and my stomach has rusted. I have become an empty iron can of cola that will cut your tongue in half. My home is now a cesspool of industrial history, because no one needs me either. (As well as world history and culture.) The doctors will try to help you, but sepsis. There is a commercial break on the surgical screen and then shit again. The freckles have disappeared. Someone will have to pay back the loan for all this.

5

Kill me with a clay name oh chitinous god

But others are dying again

Someone is watering the lilacs that grew instead of a cemetery

Writing a good story is something authors pray to be able to do every time we set out to craft a work of fiction. A clear voice and a zesty Imagination typically make for a satisfying fictional read.

When I picked up Nikki Erlick’s contemporary novel titled THE MEASURE, of course, I was hopeful it would be a read well worth the time I would invest. But I had no idea that within the first few pages I’d have my mind turned upside down and inside out; the disturbing tumble unfolding quickly.

The scenario presented involves a date in time when all human beings, 22 yrs or older, across the planet, receive a small wood box on their door step. These boxes appear out of the blue and from who knows where. Inside each box is a single piece of string, which serves to inform each person how long they will live, almost exactly how much time they have left. I scrambled to wrap my brain around the provocative scenario.

I must confess that on that night, after reading the first 75 or so pages, trying to get to sleep proved almost impossible.  I tossed-and-turned in my bed. A sense of dread coursed through my body. What I had taken for granted in terms of being unknown had been thrown out the window by this author. I’m not quite sure why I had such a visceral reaction. I believe it was the combination of personal fear and the sheer intrigue I had, which was generated by Erlick’s inventive premise. Of course, I knew the book was pure fiction but I kept thinking to myself, what if this ever really happened?

Each of the eight lead characters in this novel is deliciously vivid and authentically layered. These individuals come together in a support group held at a school after hours which is located on the upper east side of Manhattan. The purpose of the group’s formation is to help “short stringers” come to terms with the fact that they won’t have the privilege of living a long life. Sean, a therapist and the group’s facilitator, hopes to provide a safe and supportive space for each person to explore and navigate the slippery slope of knowing the difficult truth.

What was so fascinating to me about this read is how each character finds their own unique and personal way of dealing with the harsh reality. My immediate thought: would it be freeing or completely traumatizing to suddenly learn how long you will live and that no matter what you do, there is nothing that will alter your prescribed and timed ending. Your time left is fixed! Period.

Although an extreme theme is presented in this book, there are a number of parallels made relevant to today’s America, brilliantly yet subtly highlighted by the author. At least a few philosophical questions jammed my brain immediately after turning the last page.

So, get ready for a scary and provocative journey that may take you outside your comfort zone. Don’t pass up this opportunity to consider the potential key take-away from this story. It may simply be “live for today.”

If this book is a “pick” for your book club like it was for mine, I predict that your discussion about these colorful characters and the spell-binding plot will be extra rich. And perhaps the depth of the usual sharing of perspectives may go even deeper than your group’s ever been before. The one question that may come up is this:

      If such a tiny wood box holding a single string which indicated the exact amount of time you have left to live, landed on your doorstep, would you open the box to find out or would you put the box away in the very back of your closet, and maybe never open it?

THE MEASURE by Nikki Erlick. I invite all readers, young and old, to enjoy the ride.

Linda S. Gunther is the author of six published suspense novels: Ten Steps from the Hotel Inglaterra, Endangered Witness, Lost in the Wake, Finding Sandy Stonemeyer, Dream Beach, and Death is a Great Disguiser. Most recently, her memoir titled A Bronx Girl (growing up in the Bronx in the 1960’s) was released in late 2023. Ms. Gunther’s short stories, poetry, book reviews and essays have been published in a variety of literary journals across the world. Website: www.lindasgunther.com

Where am I

where am i

an extremely

cold stream

soot-streaked trees

desolate

& bare mountain

grains grow

in the roses

but 

the roses reach

into the vast tracts

the wheat is dancing

beneath obsidian clouds

the rain kisses the roses 

with tender lips

where am i

there are no peacocks

crowned in rainbow hues
there are no hummingbirds

alight in beams

there is no shimmering lake

to mirror Eden’s vision

i’ve forgotten 

i am cast out from 

the Garden of Eden

hard to harvest my soul

whispering for the time past

choking back my tears

praying

until my spirit recovers—

after

leaving god

Blue Horse

We had seen the bold and blue horse
in my dream; its strong body,
like a horse on the prairie,
like a cowboy’s horse.
It could fight, it could run.

In our hearts,
we once rode a blue horse
in our dreams,
galloping in the land of freedom.

Some pain was like a lean horse,
running fast for a moment before collapsing.

Because my sister and I—

our memories didn’t fade.
There was some joy in them,
fresh as the blue horse.

Sometimes we lacked the courage
to carry ourselves far enough to escape our family—
a home filled with liquor bottles.
Father’s face was red,
quarreling and fighting.

Illness took you away;
you never broke free from the cage.
The funeral flowers mirrored
your snow-white skin—
it was your grand festival.

In death, you become weightless.
Death carries you on a blue horse
to a place of freedom.

Minotaur

The Art Institute into Tuesday’s snow.

When my eyes opened, I was trapped in the museum’s labyrinth (Tiny as a shadow). Unknown monsters faced me, horns casting twin shadows. / Hallucination? / /Blood! People! / I want to escape the twisted halls. /

/ Too vast, the museum warped into impossible geometry. / / Blood, blood, blood, the Minotaur drinking museum’s lights like wine. / / I saw the monster devour the soul of a person, and the Minotaur ate the monsters, as if history endlessly repeats itself. /

/ Just like two sides of history’s dark mirror. / / I couldn’t separate myth from memory. The monster becomes real only in relation to trauma; both past and present might be true or false. /

/ b / bl / bla / / b, bla, b, black black black black black sun sun sun sun sun / I exorcise Munich’s beer hall memories, 1923 to1933, darkness envelops Chicago snow. I try to comprehend-histories. Outside the painting, only one museum, Inside the painting, multiple wars, The ghosts of WWII, European ghosts, red and black, bleeding.

As the Minotaur devours monsters, I seek meaning in chaos. Especially beneath the museum’s artificial lights, I remember what Minotaur told me: “The survivors of horror become storytellers, and all stories and human are one.”

In this moment, the endless snow falls silent. The black sun falls silent. Like human of memory. Like history coming to a still. Back to reality, everything is fine. I am enjoying  Picasso’s Minotaur with ease.

Yucheng Tao is an international student, who has been studying songwriting at MI College of Contemporary Music in Los Angeles. His work won the Open Them Wingless Dreamer 2024 contest, and Moonstone Art Center published it.

AN ABUNDANCE OF JOY 

God has given me a wonderful life. Each day is wonderful and I can live a joyous life. Yes, dialysis enables me to focus on my relationship with our Heavenly Father. My joy that started in childhood comes from talking to God all the time. 

He has given a life full of riches. I get to take time to thank Him while I’m treated. I continue to pray and give thanks for my life and for that abundance of joy. God’s gift has allowed me to have Heaven here at the present time. I experience the wonders of the All Mighty. Imagine having an experience of God’s grace while still living here on earth.  

Joy and joy and joy. Nothing on this earth can now take my heart for God is showing me the purpose of my life. He has allowed the writing of Jeremiah 29:11 to be His gift to me to have and to keep. I experience His unending mercy and grace. I can’t explain my peace in my relationship with God now. 12 hours a week at three hours a season with His healing of me and others. I find myself having compassion for others to teach them to enjoy the gift of life without taking it for granted. 

Each moment is a moment to converse with Him and praise Him. Giving glory. 

Nothing in this world is greater than His love for us. Now I understand my purpose. 

God has given me a chance to fully live having dialysis. I am no longer captured by the world because of God’s Mercy. I’m prospering and have hope and a future with Him in this life and eternally. 

I share God’s amazing grace to me. His grace to live in the inner city. His grace to just live a life of abundance of peace and prosperity and a future and hope. Nothing surpasses His grace.  

So, in closing, dialysis has shown me God’s love to me which is beyond my comprehension. I leave you all with this thought: wherever you are in life, God is there. In difficult situations or joy, He is with you.

A dead umbrella 

“Be like your father” 

The inimitable pronunciation would pour into ears 

burning lava 

smoky

I have never seen lava, but I swear 

there was nothing less warm than lava in those words. 

Still, one day, with my all patience 

when I myself became 

a father 

When I saw that from inside each sound “father” comes out 

an umbrella 

or an ‘old umbrella’ 

whose cloth is decorated with two and a half hundred holes 

through each hole comes down a seed of a new universe 

a seed is a forest 

a forest is a civilization 

and I realized that I too am a tree 

in that forest sprouting like a leaky umbrella 

in some drowsy corner 

I too have to calculate how much shade 

I can give to my child 

or how much winter warmth I can give? 

And when all these credit and debit are washed off 

again I am on the battlefield like a 

dead umbrella 

A wild slogan will fall through all the living or dead holes 

“I will never be like my father!” 

Farewell

Farewell, Old Year, Farewell

To past pains do not dwell

Wipe away the burning tears

Face off all doubts and fears

Move on to a brighter future

Hope is broken dream’s suture

Farewell, Old Year, Farewell

Twelve moans of Buddha’s bell

Wipe away sin that conscience sears

Deafening gongs demon hears

Move on to a brighter future

Honor’s virtue to nurture

Farewell, Old Year, Farewell

A forecast the rooster will tell

Wipe away scars of past years

Heaven’s Golden Gate nears

Move on to a brighter future

As one’s soul slowly matures

Farewell, Comrade. Farewell

A journey you’ve travelled well

Farewell… Farewell

A new goal of journey to fill.

Snow

I wish to give him a special gift~ SNOW

Something unknown I want to show

Beauty and softness for him to know

Gift’s strangeness my face did blow

A snowball I asked his hands to hold

It is just a rock to me he sadly told

It’s coldness in his large hands I fold

So he said the rock is certainly cold

Encouraged what’s a snow he can get

Squeezed the snowball soft and wet

Told me it is a hard, wet rock he felt

Asked if rock in his hands would melt

The more of snow to him I describe

The more to a rock he does subscribe

He cannot perceive the snow’s nature

Winter is not part of his own culture

Words I have of snow for him to learn

Yet his impatience is all that I did earn

Walls to break down patiently I must

If I truly wish to win his love and trust

Inspired by a lesson learned in a Language Interpreter class. Miscommunication is not only the speaker’s fault but may be of the listener’s as well. Cultures, Emotions, Knowledge level and Situational Factors have ways of hindering one’s perception and interpretation.

Patience, Trust and Love are important factors in communication.

Lilian Dipasupil Kunimasa was born January 14, 1965, in Manila Philippines. She has worked as a retired Language Instructor, interpreter, caregiver, secretary, product promotion employee, and private therapeutic masseur. Her works have been published as poems and short story anthologies in several language translations for e-magazines, monthly magazines, and books; poems for cause anthologies in a Zimbabwean newspaper; a feature article in a Philippine newspaper; and had her works posted on different poetry web and blog sites. She has been writing poems since childhood but started on Facebook only in 2014. For her, Poetry is life and life is poetry.

Lilian Kunimasa considers herself a student/teacher with the duty to learn, inspire, guide, and motivate others to contribute to changing what is seen as normal into a better world than when she steps into it. She has always considered life as an endless journey, searching for new goals, and challenges and how she can in small ways make a difference in every path she takes. She sees humanity as one family where each one must support the other and considers poets as a voice for Truth in pursuit of Equality and proper Stewardship of nature despite the hindrances of distorted information and traditions.